The Cat, the Collector and the Killer

by Leann Sweeney

  We’d been quiet on the ride to Fellowship Hills, and as we parked in the apartment complex lot, Kara broke the silence. “I hope I hear some pleasant details about Chester for his obit, or it will be a short column on the back page. The man worked for animal control and didn’t like animals? That bothers me. You may be feeling sympathetic toward Lucinda and Earl, and perhaps even Chester, but I’m not.”

  “Shawn always knew Chester didn’t like animals. That’s why when Shawn ended up on a lonely road with an injured animal, those two got into it. Shawn has the restraining order to prove it,” I said.

  “I guess I should have figured that out, but it never crossed my mind.”

  We both got out of the SUV and walked side by side toward the block of apartments where Harris and Henry lived.

  “Kara, let me explain why I am a little sympathetic to not so nice people. The family is being visited by the unpleasant ghost of Chester Winston. They have to live with his legacy, and by acting the way they have been, they’re not helping themselves. Maybe if one person in Mercy can show them some kindness, well . . .” I glanced her way. “When you have to write both sides of a story to be fair, how difficult is that?” I asked.

  “Oh, it’s hard. This country is sliding away from that kind of reporting. I don’t like that one bit. Opinion is not fact, so you can be sure that I will tell the truth about this murder. But most of all, I want to tell the truth about Brenda and Minnie.”

  I smiled as we made our way up a barren concrete walkway tinged with dead leaf stains and mildew. Fellowship Hills sounded like such a pleasant name for a town, and yet this complex seemed bleak and run-down. The gray ceiling of impending rain didn’t help.

  Kara knocked on the door to apartment 1A and it couldn’t have been more than five seconds before the door swung open and Henry Schultz proclaimed, “Did you find him?” Then his anxious expression changed to disappointment. “Oh. You’re not the cops.”

  “Kara Hart. Can you spare a few moments, Mr. Schultz?”

  He glanced back and forth between me and Kara, and his gaze settled on me. “I know you, but who is this? A plainclothes officer from Mercy? Because—”

  “I’m the editor of the Mercy Messenger and I have a few questions. Since you know Jillian, and she happens to be my stepmother, I thought—”

  “You’re writing a story about his disappearance?” He nodded vigorously. His anxiety had him blinking and biting his lip and rubbing his fingers and thumbs together. “That’s a great idea. Come in.”

  Kara and I exchanged glances and she shrugged as we followed Henry into his apartment.

  If the outside of this place was run-down and uninviting, the apartment was anything but. Someone who lived here liked order and cleanliness and I was guessing that person was here with us now.

  “Sit down.” Henry gestured at what seemed to be a brand-new charcoal-colored sofa with tufted cushions and a chaise on one end. Two matching chairs sat opposite. He went on as he paced, saying, “But I can’t sit. I have to walk, to move . . . yes, keep moving.”

  As I settled onto the sofa, I said, “Harris is missing?”

  Henry chewed on the corner of his mouth as we walked back and forth in front of us, but my question stopped him in his tracks. He dropped his hand and stared at me. “You don’t know? That’s not why you’re here?”

  “We want to know.” Kara’s tone was gentle. “We want to help. Tell us what happened, Henry.”

  “Harris disappeared. Even when he’s out with his slacker friends, he always comes home. But last night, he didn’t. I called the police here in town and they gave me that song and dance about adults having the right to walk off the earth if they want to and—”

  “And that upset you,” I said.

  “So I called your husband.” His attitude had turned cocky, the same attitude I’d seen in his brother when we’d spoken the first time we met.

  Kara pulled her tablet from her leather cross-body bag. “You called Chief Stewart because . . . ?”

  “This must be because of that murder. Something has happened to my brother and no one cares.” He took a deep breath and smiled. “Except for your husband, Jillian. He acted like Harris’s disappearance mattered. That he is important.”

  I smiled. Tom would convey that. “What did he tell you?”

  Henry glanced at the chair behind him. Much to my relief—because he was making me nervous—he sat on the edge of the chair. “The chief asked me a lot of questions about Harris’s routine, like had he been to visit Mama last night, had he even been in Mercy at all yesterday, when did he leave, when’s the last time I saw him. Things like that. Important things. Harris was driving my car, so I was able to give Chief Stewart that information. He said they’d give the plate number and car description to all local law enforcement.”

  “It’s still early enough I could get a nighttime edition out with his picture,” Kara said. “Please, tell us everything you told the chief.”

  “You’d do that? Put out this special edition? Since I don’t have my car, I can’t even go to the office supply store and make up a flyer. But I have tapped into social media.” He gestured toward the small kitchen eating area, where a laptop sat open. “Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr. Every site we’re both on.”

  “Okay, then. Tell me everything you can about Harris.” Kara readied herself to take notes, tablet on her knees.

  He began to talk, but seemed so distraught that his narrative was disconnected and Kara had to stop him several times to clarify. She was being extra patient with him but had gotten very little useful information. Then a knock on the door interrupted them.

  Henry rushed to answer and both Kara and I stood to see if Harris, perhaps without an apartment key, had returned home.

  But it wasn’t Harris. Candace stood alongside Captain Osborne.

  My heart sank. Were they here to deliver bad news to Henry?

  Candace’s eyes said, What in the heck are you two doing here? But she solemnly refocused on Henry without speaking.

  Osborne said, “We need to talk, Henry.” He looked at Kara and me. “Alone.”

  “What is it? Where’s my brother?”

  Candace stepped across the threshold, apparently unconcerned about Osborne’s need to take control. “We don’t know where your brother is yet. We did find your car.”

  Osborne was right on her heels. “Hang on, Detective Carson. This is my county and I’ll handle this.”

  “Really? Who found the car and where? And how long did you plan to string this guy along? Can’t you see how upset he is?”

  Oh boy. Candace was tired and probably couldn’t take much more of Osborne and his take-charge attitude. But Osborne had been around the police block a lot longer than she had.

  He pointed at me. “Out of here, Jillian, please. And Miss Hart? You’ll have to get your story another time. I assume that’s why you’re here.”

  “What is going on?” Henry practically screamed.

  I went to his side. “It’s okay, Henry. There are too many people in here and you need answers without an audience. Come on, Kara.”

  Kara looked downright angry, which was unusual for her. I gestured for her to come with me and she reluctantly complied. Osborne walked past us, already talking to Henry. As I passed Candace I whispered to her that I would text her in a second.

  She nodded briefly and we left. Outside, we saw both a Mercy PD cruiser and a small black SUV with COUNTY SHERIFF in bright green letters on the side.

  “That was a bust,” Kara said.

  “Maybe not. Let’s park around the corner, where Osborne can’t see us when he leaves. I told Candace I’d text her. I’ll tell her to stay behind and grab a journal, or maybe more than one, if Henry does have them.”

  Kara smiled as she pressed the ignition button. “I should take you along on all my interviews. You get things
done.”

  When I’d sent the text, I told Candace where we were parked. As we waited to hear back, I brought up the cat cam.

  But what I saw scared the bejesus out of me.

  Tom was home and he and Morris were in the living room. Tom had his hands on his hips and seemed troubled. What was going on? Where were my cats?

  I phoned him using the FaceTime feature, my hand shaking as I touched the speed dial number. I couldn’t even respond when Kara asked me what was wrong.

  Once he answered and after my rather hysterical-sounding first sentence, he tried to calm me. “It’s okay, Jilly. A little vandalism, is all.”

  “The cats. Where are they?”

  “All present and accounted for. Simon was tough to find. He was hiding way in the back of our closet, facing the corner.”

  My racing heart slowed. As long as the kitties were okay, I could handle just about anything. “Aw. Poor baby. Simon’s such a scaredy-cat. What happened?”

  He explained that he’d been alerted that our security system was activated through the app on his phone while he was working in his office. I wondered then if I’d been too busy sticking my nose in other people’s business to hear the alarm I’d set for the app.

  He said, “Someone threw rocks at the house and dented a few gutters. They also spray-painted a message on the curb. Whoever it was probably knew they could be caught on-camera because they somehow avoided getting in any frame. I’ll have to fix those blind spots when I get a chance.”

  “What was this message, Tom?”

  “And I quote, ‘this five-oh house was visited by weed-smoking dudes.’”

  “What?” That seemed absolutely bizarre.

  “Yeah. Not exactly a threat, aside from the rock throwing.”

  “What does five-oh house mean, Tom?”

  “Gang slang for a police officer’s place. They wanted to make sure I knew they had my address. On top of everything happening right now in Mercy, I don’t have time for this kind of stupid stuff.”

  “Could the mention of weed have anything to do with Harris Schultz? I mean, you’re the one who told me he smokes pot. Could he have done this? Could that be why he’s gone missing?”

  “So you know about that. How?”

  Kara called, “She’s helping me, Tom. We came to interview Harris and Henry Schultz.”

  “Hey there, Kara. I knew you couldn’t stop doing what you do.” Tom smiled. “I thought it looked as if Jilly was sitting in your fancy car. As for Harris being our vandal, I don’t think it’s possible. See, he went missing in the middle of the night. Since he stole his brother’s car and then exchanged it for an early model Chevy from a used car lot—we did get the car theft on-camera—we believe he was long gone before what happened at our house. They picked up the stolen car on a traffic cam up by Greenville. He’s fleeing. But fleeing what? I don’t know yet.”

  “His brother will be relieved he’s okay,” I said. “Will you call him with that information?”

  “I will. Or you can have him call me when you talk to him,” Tom said.

  “We kind of got kicked out of his apartment—by Captain Osborne.” I went on to explain how we’d hoped to find Minnie’s journal, but that Candace and Osborne had arrived before we could even learn whether Henry had it.

  “Brad Osborne must have picked up on my dispatch to Candace. I told her to interview Henry.” Then Tom seemed to surprise Kara by saying, “Good to follow up on that journal. Not good that Osborne is sticking his nose in our business again. He wants to solve this case in the worst way.”

  I heard Morris in the background. “That guy’s building his reputation on what he’s plannin’ to do tomorrow.”

  Kara laughed and said, “That is so true.”

  Tom grew somber. “We can’t alienate local police agencies, so we all need to be careful how we react to Captain Osborne. If one of my people sends out an officer needs assistance call, I don’t want the sheriff’s department taking their sweet time coming to the rescue. We can and we do work together. He’s just been more . . . present when it comes to this case. Murder is a big deal and he can make his name off being the one to solve this.”

  “I never thought about how much small-town police might need help from other departments. Even the state police, right?” I said.

  “That’s right. For the most part, we all get along fine.”

  “Just to reassure you,” I said, “when Captain Osborne told us to leave Henry’s apartment a bit ago, we left right away.”

  “Good.” He smiled. “I explained to him the other day that you help out anyone who needs it and he seemed to understand. Maybe once he can be in the limelight concerning all that’s gone down in the last week, he won’t be such a jerk.”

  I then filled Tom in about running into Sara Jo and Lucinda and what we’d learned from those two. Before he disconnected he told me not to worry about the vandalism. He’d find out who did this, but maybe not right now. He was only glad I hadn’t been home.

  After Tom disconnected, Kara said, “Sometimes kids have nothing better to do than cause trouble. But here’s the problem I have with this situation. Vandalism usually takes place at night, when no one’s watching. My fear is someone was watching—as in watching you and waiting for you to leave.”

  The idea of someone watching me made that pastry I’d eaten earlier seem like a bad decision. “Kara, this does seem like kid’s stuff. Maybe it was just a gang-initiation thing.”

  “Could be. With the meth problems in our more remote areas of the state, gangs have sprung up. But you aren’t exactly someone a vandal would target. Still, that reference to weed after what we think we know about Harris can’t be ignored. I’m certain it wasn’t lost on Tom, even if he didn’t say he thought it was connected.”

  “But Tom believes Harris had already left town before the vandalism occurred, right?”

  Kara contemplated this. “I guess he did say that. Maybe this vandalism was just a random act of stupidity.”

  But neither of us was totally convinced if the uneasy silence that fell between us meant anything.

  Twenty-eight

  Candace finally answered my text and said she’d meet us in a few minutes. Worried about my spooked cats, I tapped the cat cam app again. But before I did, I saw that I had indeed missed the alert from when our home security system had been activated. That’s when I realized the volume on my phone was turned down, something I probably did accidentally—though I had no idea how. It wasn’t the first time. I turned the volume all the way up, determined to check for that problem more often.

  Once the cat cam was running, I saw that Tom and Morris were gone. But Syrah seemed on high alert. He was on the window seat, front paws on the window frame. His ears were tilted forward, so he was paying close attention to whatever was going on outside. He probably didn’t want any rocks hitting the house and taking him by surprise again. He certainly was a watch cat, if such a thing existed.

  Candace’s squad car pulled up next to the SUV about five minutes later. We decided we were all hungry and she knew of a place not too far from here that had food to accommodate my vegetarian stepdaughter. Since Kara and I weren’t native South Carolinians, it was a good thing Candace knew where we could get good food—that is, if my stomach was settled by then.

  The town nearby seemed quite different from Fellowship Hills, but that’s because it was home to a small college. We ate at a place called the Cabbage Patch, and I swear Kara was as excited as one of my cats at a mouse show when she saw all the vegetarian choices on the menu.

  Once we’d ordered, I finally got to ask the question that had been on my mind for the last hour. “Did you get the journal?”

  “Yup. I put it in an evidence bag, but it’s been handled so much, I’m not sure that will help when it comes to DNA or prints. Heck, I’m not even certain it is evidence.”
>
  “Did you read what she wrote?” Kara asked.

  “I did. Not that it made any sense. There was a repeat of what Greta Kramer said Mrs. Schultz wrote before—the stuff about ‘no uniform.’”

  “Can I read it?” Kara asked.

  “Nope. It’s bagged up. I don’t think the incoherent scrawls of a woman who had a brain tumor can lead us anywhere, Kara. And why don’t you ask Liam how it would go over in court if I opened that evidence bag now? We need to preserve some semblance of a chain of evidence should we hope to convict a killer.”

  “Darn it, Candace. Show it to me through the plastic, then.”

  Candace just shook her head, her lips tight.

  Our food arrived, thank goodness, and the mini-argument ceased. We must have all been hungry, because we remained silent through half the meal. I had the restaurant’s specialty—cabbage soup—and though it was delicious, I should have opted for something less tough on my gut. The vandalism still bothered me. Even if Tom said he’d find out who did it, I dreaded going home to that scene.

  Candace and Kara had huge salads with every kind of green known to humans. The homemade rolls were wonderful and the smell of yeast bread that filled the little place was certainly soothing—though not soothing enough.

  On the way back to Mercy, Candace led the way, and for once she kept to a reasonable speed. But the roads were winding and narrow, as were many of the back roads in our area of the state. She pretty much had to take her time.

  Candace waved good-bye out the driver’s window when we hit town. She took off in the direction of the station while Kara and I went to my house. It wasn’t a pretty sight. The paint the vandals or vandal used was neon yellow. Tom had failed to mention the large yellow X painted in front of the driveway.

  As I slid out of the passenger seat, I muttered, “How will we ever get that off?”

  “I’m sure there are ways. You can paint over it, maybe?” She was trying to make me feel better, but it wasn’t working.